ACT III

SERENA

It's incredible how much things can change in less than two years.

One moment, you're surrounded by friends on a daily basis. The next, well . . .

I glance around my dim living room. A rogue beam of sunlight filters in through the cracked window pane by the front door, peeking through a small gap in the heavy curtains. It lights up a few of the many tomes I've piled on the floor by the couch. Only a handful I've been binging at late. Something I never could've accomplished before our trip to the Vinmark Wastes, lest one of our nosy friends bust in, unannounced.

But I suppose that's what happens when a city stands on a precipice of a holy war. Everyone must pause and recollect themselves, to reevaluate both their lives and actions. And sometimes, that means leaving others behind. If only temporarily.

I sigh and glare down at the text sitting on the table in front of me.

"Like I'm anyone to talk," I grumble.

Yes, Hawke and the others have been busy. But they're not the only ones. Ever since our trip back, I've dedicated most of my time to research. And not any ordinary research either, mind you. Secret research. Research into Corypheus, the Grey Wardens . . . and the taint.

I've pondered if such efforts might be overkill. Corypheus is dead after all. 'Deader than a flamed nug on a stick' is how Anders and Varric both called it. But I just can't shake this worry. That pull he had on us, on me.

If something like that were to ever happen again, if I couldn't resist . . .

I remember the temptation of his Call. How beautiful his voice sounded. A melodic tenor that could calm a raging dragon itself.

The peace it promised felt equivalent to slipping into a nice hot bath, after years of exhausting manual labor.

Slipping. Slipping. Submerging.

Drowning.

"No. Stop that." I shake away the clinging feeling.

Don't think about it. Focus on trying to find a cure. Your life depends on it. So does Anders, and Alistair, and so many others. The fact you still fantasize over it proves it's a danger.

I fixate on the script again, dedicating myself to my studies once more. Two sentences later, there's a loud knock at the front door.

I jolt and reach for my scythe. An instinctual response, one crafted from a life of being on the run, and encouraged after years of living with Fenris.

My heart races as I grasp the cool steel in my palm.

Who could that be? At this early hour? The market's not even open yet.

Another knock follows. This time louder, more drawn out. Listless.

I gulp and tiptoe over to the window, being careful not to make a sound.

Maybe . . . Merrill? No, we're still not close enough to warrant surprise visits again. Not without Hawke or one of the others accompanying her.

Templars then? Slavers? Have my pursuers finally caught up with me?

I peek around the curtains to catch a glimpse of whoever's responsible. At first, I don't see anybody. But then I look down . . . lower.

It's a dwarf. A red-headed dwarf. With no beard. Puffy chest hair . . . and . . . a crossbow.

Varric.

My wound up muscles melt with relief. I heave out a combination of a groan and a sigh, and quickly stomp over to the front door. "You're lucky I've grown so fond of you, Varric." I swing the door wide open. "Otherwise, I'd pull you through the ringer for nearly giving me a heart attack." I scowl fake daggers at him.

He grins. "What? You think I was some magister finally come to call? Or did you have someone else in mind?"

"Are you asking for a list? Or are you genuinely curious?"

"Hmm. A mix of both." He hums, and my heart warms at his playful tone. He's always been a master at putting me in a better mood, ever since we first met. "Anyways, as much as I'd love to catch up and celebrate that you've lived another day without incident, I've heard news from Hawke. He's asked us to pick up Fenris from Hightown, while he fetches Blondie. He wants us all to meet up in front of the Keep. There's apparently some hotshot in town that he's been asked to meet, and he doesn't feel comfortable going in alone."

My eyes widen. "What? Hawke's shy to meet some unknown, highborn dignitary? And he wants us to accompany him? That's a first." I put a hand to my chest for a bit of dramatic flare, the surprise true, but the ostentatious gesture needed nonetheless.

Varric chuckles. "I know, I know. I didn't think he could get cold feet, either. Yet, here we are." The dwarf glimpse around behind me, into my messy abode. 'A trash heap of books and papers' would be putting it too kindly. "Do you need a moment? I can wait out here until you . . . get your things together."

I glimpse back at the open book I've left abandoned on the kitchen table. "No. No, I'm ready. Let's go hurry and grab Fenris. I'm curious what this is all about."


"Wake up, Broody. Hawke probably wants us all to be alert and conscious by the time he and Blondie get here," Varric warns the slouching, Tevinter elf.

The three of us stand in front of the Keep, beside the small garden at the foot of the stairs.

Fenris grunts and rubs one hand across his forehead, his movements slow, sluggish, and eyes clamped shut.

It's not unusual to see him this out of it or groggy in the morning. He's never been what I would classify as an early riser, choosing instead to sleep in until almost noon most days, and needing at least a full hour or two to fully wake up, assuming he gets his morning coffee.

But his entire schedule has been pushed back even further of late. Why, I don't think he got home to the mansion until two last night! Meaning he probably didn't fall asleep until four of five, what with his obsessive habit of checking the locks to every door and window before bed and his inability to relax for another good hour after that.

"You've got no one to blame but yourself." I flash him a mischievous smirk. "You and these secret late night 'meetings' of yours. Care to tell me what they're about yet?"

Fenris flinches. He stands up straight, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "It is nothing. Just—"

"'Just another one of your contacts following up on leads about Danarius.' Yes, you've both given that excuse at least a dozen times now." I side-eye Varric. "Though not convincingly once, mind you."

"You think we'd lie to you, Twinkle Toes?" Varric gives me a sly, reassuring smile. The kind that makes me want to believe him.

I glower at the still grinning dwarf. "You're good, I'll give you that . . . If I haven't known you for so long, or the fact that I know you're in cahoots together, I might even believe you."

And that's the truth.

Varric's a skilled storyteller and rogue, with perhaps one of the best poker faces I've ever encountered. His knack for diversionary tactics aren't to be taken lightly either. But those close enough to him know his main tells. They reside in his slight squint, his roundabout forms of charm-infused questioning, and the faint rise in his velvety voice at the ends.

"He is not lying." Fenris scowls at me with green, bloodshot eyes.

"Lying by omission is still lying," I glare at Fenris. "But if you still do not wish to tell me, I can't force you."

Fenris frowns and hangs his head. Proof that I've got him there, although I didn't need the confirmation.

I hate giving him such a hard time like this, but I am worried about him. It's unlike them to both keep me in the dark about something like this, for so long. And although I can respect their right to privacy, and the fact that they both have their own lives that need managing, I draw a line to biting my tongue when it turns one of my said friends into a sleepless zombie. Even more so when it's been going on for months with no hint of an end.

All I want to do is help. Why can't they see that?

I huff and shift my weight onto my other foot, my mood souring faster the longer I try guessing at their no-doubt flawless reasoning for my exclusion.

A faint shadow moves in the corner of my eye, coming from Hawke's estate. I look toward it and find Hawke approaching with a sullen-looking Anders. "Hey! You made it!" the bearded Champion calls out to us with unmitigated joy.

You'd think by his laid-back manner we'd just seen each other in the market the other day, instead of nearly over a month ago.

"We're here," I answer, crossing my arms, a part of me still struggling to decide if I want to hug him or slug him for neglecting the rest of us for so long. Intentional or not. "Now, out with it. What's going on?"

Hawke mellows out, perhaps disappointed by my curt response. "You'll see. Follow me," he says. He makes his way up the steps, leading into the Keep. About halfway up the first flight of stairs, he glances back at me. "So, how are you doing? It's been . . . two weeks now, hasn't it?"

"Three, but who's counting?" I scoff.

"Right." Hawke rubs at the back of his neck, his gaze shifting downward.

Creators, why am I acting like this?

It's not his fault he's been busy. He is the only one holding off war in this city.

"I've been fine," I offer, trying to make up for the earlier prickliness. "How are you doing?"

"Alright." He shrugs. "Meredith and Orsino at least haven't tried to kill each other openly yet. But Meredith's recent confining of the mages . . . that does leave some things to be desired."

His shoulders slump, and he looks up at the sky.

My chest tightens.

This must be so difficult for him, what with Bethany still being stuck at the Circle. His mother's probably worried sick, constantly pestering him about the safety and treatment of her only daughter. And I imagine that only makes his own dealings and concern with Meredith all the worse.

Our group enters the column lined hall that lies before the entrance to the Keep. A few armored city guardsmen shuffle by us, whispering to each other like gossiping fishwives. I catch something about Meredith and a noble. Those are the only words I manage to pick up, but it's enough to pique some curiosity.

"Have you . . . found any more leads?" Hawke asks, capturing my attention again. "About the Haven woman? Or the magister?"

"No." I clench my fists, frustrated but also thankful by the answer. "I'm kind of hoping they've finally given up. Wouldn't that be great!"

"One could only hope." Hawke beams at me.

My heart leaps at the unexpected, handsome sight. I quickly look away, the top of my cheeks burning from the unanticipated flutters. Whether Hawke notices remains unclear. He merely faces forward and continues leadings us down our path, into the Keep.

The moment its large doors open, we're greeted by an unusual spectacle: a small group of people, arguing at the foot of the foyer's grand staircase, with hordes of nobles looking on throughout the upper and lower floors.

"Let me guess: that's your final answer?" a tall blond man at the center says in a deep, sarcastic voice; one that's impossible for me not to recognize, regardless of how much time passes.

"Three mages have fled to Ferelden, and you have intervened to protect them as if it is your right to do so. What other answer did you expect, your Majesty?" Meredith snaps, standing opposite the blond. She's dressed in her usual, full templar armor. But what would normally be a sight to be seen, comes out pale in comparison to the bulkier, more elaborate golden set adorning the Keep's current guest of honor.

"A maybe might have been nice," the guest deadpans with an exasperated gaze, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

"I don't deal in maybes! I deal in cold, hard facts—as should you. Perhaps when Ferelden next chooses a king, it will be one that takes his duty to the Maker seriously." Meredith stomps off with her underlings. A human monsoon, who now frequents the heart of Hightown.

Alistair sighs and turns to face Hawke and the rest of our approaching group. "Well. That was awkward," he mutters with a quick shake of his head.

"That's just Meredith's idea of Kirkwall hospitality," Hawke teases, not missing a beat.

"Really?" Alistair raises an eyebrow at him, while Seneshal Bran and Bann Teagan join his sides. "Kirkwall brutality must rip the skin off your face, then."

Hawke chuckles and relaxes his stance. "You asked to see me?"

"I did! Or I think I did, anyhow." Alistair glances over at Teagan and the Seneschal.

"This is the champion of Kirkwall," Seneshal Bran introduces Hawke with a brief, reluctant, bow. Appearing just as displeased as ever about our presence or status in this city.

"Right. I'm Alistair, uh . . . King of—" He pauses, finally meeting eye contact with me. I somehow freeze even further, unable to snap out of my stunned daze. "By the Maker. Serena . . . is that you?" he asks.

The whole room quiets. All eyes seem to fixate on me now. I don't see it, but I can feel it in my bones.

Oh. Crap.

"It is you, isn't it?" Alistair struts past Hawke, up to me. "Andraste's holy knickers! What are you doing here? I had men looking all over Thedas for you!" He wraps me up into a big, warm, bear hug, the grip behind it squeezing the near life out of me, making me droop in his hold like some frigid green bean.

Whispers and stares drift down from the nearby balconies overhead. I can hear their voices all around now, as well as from other parts of the foyer, over by the shared bookshelves. My heart races to a gallop. I quickly pat Alistair on the back, urging him to move swiftly away. He untangles himself and places one kind, gentle hand on my shoulder. The touch behind it warm, welcoming, even through his armor. But somehow, that only makes me tenser, knowing the surrounding atmosphere.

"You two know each other?" Seneschal Bran shifts his gaze between the two of us.

"Of course!" Alistair grins, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Have you not heard how I fought side-by-side with the Hero of Ferelden during the blight?"

The room silences.

Hawke's and Anders's eyes widen, as though a pair of frogs have jumped down their throats.

"Alistair," I grumble, lowering my head, and elbow him in the side.

"What? What did I do?" he whines.

And then he takes a closer look at everyone, gawking all around us.

A horrified realization dawns on his face, his complexion and earlier mirth visibly paling. "Oh. Oh, no. Don't tell me." He fixates back on me, eyes wide, mouth agape. "You haven't told them yet? How long have you—"

I cut him off with another firm elbow to the hip, which sends him stumbling a step off to the side.

"Ow!" he yelps, rubbing the affected spot. But there's no way he could've felt that beyond that golden armor of his. He's just being a drama queen. Or king in this case. Like usual.

Seneshal Bran's jaw drops. "You-You are the Hero of Ferelden?" he asks, staring at me. And I swear he couldn't have asked any louder for the entire bloody courtroom to hear. if he tried

I groan and glimpse around at our gathering audience.

No point in trying to backtrack now. It's either I admit to the truth or gather suspicion while making Alistair out to be a confused liar. And no one would appreciate that.

"Yes, I am the Hero of Ferelden." I place my hands on my waist. "As well as the former warden-commander of Vigil's Keep and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Thanks Alistair, for revealing that for me." I flash a blistery cold scowl in his direction. He bites his lip in hushed apology, recognizing it, and I focus back on the Senaschal. "I apologize for any deception or alarm this might've caused you or your ranks. I had intended to keep it a secret for my own personal sake, to try to take up a less exciting life here in the Free Marches. At least, until a certain oblivious King reaffirmed his lack of tact on such delicacies. Again."

"What? Heyyyy…"

"Don't try to deny it." I poke Alistair in the chest. "This is just one example. Or do I need to remind you of that time before Orzammar?"

Alistair grimaces. His reaction almost automatic. Instinctive.

Nope. No reminder needed there, it seems.

I glimpse over at Teagan, flashing him a faint, mutual smile before hanging my head again. "What a mess," I grumble.

And here I thought I might've finally left that part of my past behind me. Irony really doesn't like to let me rest.


HAWKE

"Blasted. Curse Alistair to the Void," Serena mutters as we exit the Keep.

Holding her chin up high, and her back up straight, you'd assume nothing could be bothering the proud-looking Dalish elf.

But I can see the truth beyond it. Her scorching gaze emanates a thinning patience. Her well-maintained façade on the verge of shattering in favor of volatile violence.

"I can't take much more of this," she continues. "And here, it's only just begun."

"What? What are you talking about?" I eye her carefully.

"All the staring and whispering." She glances around the noble-filled courtyard, spreading out in front of us, before the Keep. "I can't stand it. How do nobles put up with this? On a daily basis? It's so . . . irritating."

I can't help but chuckle. "What? Don't like being in the limelight?"

Serena scowls at me. "I bet you're enjoying this fully aren't you?"

I shrug. "It is rather fun to see you squirm."

And to see her and the others, period.

It's been far too long. Mother, Meredith, and Orsino have kept me buried in paperwork for months! Forget the daily meetings, parties, and noble letters complaining or requesting aid.

"Yes, well . . . perhaps the next time we're in battle, and you're in a bind, I'll stand back and watch you squirm. Then we'll see how fun it is." Serena retorts.

My gut sinks. "Isn't that . . . a tad harsh? Can't you choose to do something . . . Oh, I don't know. Less life threatening?"

She pauses to contemplate, but quickly stops and flashes me a wide smirk. "I could force you to wear a dress and dance the marigold?"

"Maker, no!" I gasp. "Who in their right mind would agree to that?"

"Oh, you know one," she snickers deviously, a dangerous glimmer, flickering in her scheming teal eyes.

I glance back at Fenris, who's lagging behind us by a couple feet. "I hope she doesn't mean you . . ."

Fenris glares at me. His bloodshot eyes even more intimidating than usual. "Hawke, I am many things. But a fool? No."

"Some might argue about that," Anders adds with a smug grin.

"Silence, mage."

Yes, it's good to be around friends again.


SERENA

A few hours later, Alistair and Teagan join our group for a round of drinks at the Hanged Man. Our entire party has gathered around the table in Varric's room. And by our entire party, I mean everyone. Even Aveline and Sebastian made the trek out. A miracle within a miracle, if I do say so myself, and a missed one at that.

Nora constantly flits in an out of Varric's quarters, refilling our drinks and plates of food to the brim. But by the ever slight crane of her neck, I imagine she's also eagerly spying, listening for what could be the next town gossip. I supposed that's to be expected, when we're surrounded by a King, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the legendary Hero of Ferelden. In her tavern. And somehow exchanging old battle stories. What could be better?

"And there we were," Alistair continues his most recent retelling of our first venture into the Deep Roads, beneath Orzammar, "wandering through crumbled ruins for days unknown. Serena was leading our group, complaining about our whining, or how slow we were. Something of that origin. And then, it happens. Two giant spiders drop from the ceiling, and she squeals like a little girl! We had to nearly drag her out by the feet to keep her moving forward! It only got worse when we saw more spider webs covering the adjacent tunnel walls!"

The others chuckle at the not so fond memory for me. I still shudder at the thought of those web-covered walls, and their accursed creators.

"Laugh and joke of what you will, but I still remember a certain bastard prince, running buck ass naked across camp, begging me to stop of one of our companions from turning him into a toad."

Varric's eyebrow shoot up. "What? Now this I've got to hear!"

"No! No." Alistair puts a hurried hand up in panic. "Alright. You win. Now, let's just forget this ever happened, agreed?"

"Fine." I nod. "But this last pint is on you." I raise my near empty mug to him.

He groans. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."

The two of us exchange familiar grins. The like we used to always give each other during our distant days back at camp. Or after his coronation, when stuck in meetings, surrounded by nobles.

It's good to have him around again, if even for a short while. Back during the blight, he was always my closest confidant, and I've missed our constant jokes and pep talks we'd give one another. Without him, the blight would've been a terribly dreary affair. And I couldn't even imagine having gone through a lot of what we did, without having his unwavering support at my back. Or my front. Depending on the moment.

"Well, it's good to see you, Alistair. Truly." I tell him, standing up and stepping away from my seat. "However, I need to head home to get some rest. Thanks to a certain blabbermouth king, I've been asked to pay an official visit to the Keep tomorrow morning to formally introduce myself to the court. So, it's time for me to say goodnight."

Alistair gives me his classic child-like pout. "Leaving so soon? We've only just caught up."

He always did put on the best disappointed act. Voice, face, and all. Like a pleading da'len, begging not to destroy all the good that's left in the world.

"Yes, Twinkle Toes. Stay at least for a round of Diamondback. It won't kill ya," Varric agrees, gesturing at the deck of cards, stacked high at the center of our cluttered table.

Everyone else smiles at me as well. All of them. Even Fenris and Anders.

"As tempting as that may be, my decision stands. We can continue the games, conversing, and what not tomorrow, if you're still up for it. But I need my rest. Going to court exhausted or hungover isn't in the cards."

"Alright, spoil sport. Go and get your beauty sleep." Alistair shoos me off with a theatrical wave of his hand. "Elves." He rolls his eyes. He then flinches and glances over at Fenris and Merrill, who are both sitting to my left. "Er . . . no offense."

"None taken," Fenris nods, and Merrill giggles.

I smile at the two.

At least they'll probably all get along.

Perhaps Alistair will help everyone relax a little? Remind them what we've all been missing? He does have that effect on people. It's one of the reasons I felt he'd make a good king to begin with, especially when paired with Anora's seriousness.

Taking that as my potential cue to leave, I step back from the table, hope rising my heightened spirits. "Goodnight." I call over my shoulder at them. "Oh, and Alistair." I pause my exit outside the open doorway, capturing Alistair's attention once again.

He looks up at me with wide, curious eyes, the depth of trust dwelling within them enough to touch my soul.

"You'd be wise not to drink too much, lest you reveal a story that may compromise your survival, or . . . ahem . . .the secrecy of certain embarrassing incidents I still recall with vivid clarity. Catch my drift?"

Alistair sinks deeper into his chair. "Oh, Maker. What have I gotten myself into?" He props his head up over the table, Teagan chuckling and patting his 'only-sort-of' nephew on the back.

I leave the others to their stories and hustle down the tavern steps.

The main room's louder than usual, the shems packed in like a hungry herd of Halla before their nightly feeding. Their sheer number more than likely because of the passing rumors of what's going on upstairs.

I push my way through the lot of them, doing my best to avoid any wandering hands, lest I fail to suppress the urge to cut them off tonight. My patience has been tried enough today. Best not to tempt it further and risk waking up in a jail cell.

Escaped successfully, I stagger out onto the darkened street. The cool, night air nips at my cheeks. Instant relief at the open space soaks through to my bones.

"Finally. Freedom." I whisper, rolling both my shoulders.

Now to head home and get to bed. I'm going to need all the energy I can get, if I'm going to formally introduce myself to Meredith and the other noble houses tomorrow.

A knot twists in my gut at the thought. "Please don't let this get ugly," I sigh, and then I start my reluctant march toward Hightown.

Pale moonlight shines down on me as I wind my way through the Lowtown bazaar, across from the Hanged Man. My mind drifting elsewhere, thinking of a million reasons on how this encounter tomorrow could go wrong, for any slew of reasons.

Upon reaching the top of the next staircase, and surmising at least two situations that could lead to my possible beheading related to my abandonment of the wardens alone, a shadow jumps out at me from my left.

I gasp.

Something smacks me hard in the neck.

And then . . . everything goes black.


Author's Note: For all intents and purposes for this story, I'm assuming all cameo characters look almost identical to how they did in Origins (dismissing perhaps a few minor hints of aging), since Bioware essentially made all of them look like almost completely different characters in Dragon Age 2 (excluding maybe Leliana, who came out pretty close).